


Make Believe

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: After bribing the God of Mischief with a month's worth of chocolate chip cookies, he agrees to be your wedding date. But that decision may come at a steeper price than your entire salary's worth of baking supplies.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	Make Believe

“Friday, go ahead and send out for double everything of my last order. Chips, sugar, flour, all of it. I greatly underestimated the Asgardian appetite.”

“We are quite demanding and insatiable. Do you think yourself up to the task?”

Your head shot up and whipped around at the rich, silken voice directed from over your shoulder. Loki grinned down at you, entirely too close so that you could smell the cedar and cinnamon of his cologne, before stepping to your side to eye the tray of chocolate chip cookies you had just taken out of the oven.

His hand reached out to the nab a steaming cookie. With a forceful shake of your head, you reached out and smacked it lightly. “They aren’t ready yet.”

If you had thought that the menacing, intimidating, badass God of Mischief and Looking-Fierce-While-Throwing-Daggers couldn’t pout, well, he proved you wrong. The god had puppy dog eyes like you wouldn’t believe, and he directed them toward you with his lips curling in just the tiniest hint of wickedness.

 _Damn_ , he was dangerous.

“You did promise as many cookies as I could consume in the span of one month. It is still within that timeframe, and I require what was promised. Unless you would prefer to attend the wedding alone...”

You immediately stepped away from the tray, holding your hands up in surrender. “Fine. Take them, Mischief.”

The thought of attending your cousin’s wedding alone was threat enough. The constant hounding from your family about your perpetual bare finger was enough to make you turn to your Avenger coworkers begging for someone to get the heat off of your back. Everyone else was already taken or busy, which left the Prince currently eyeing your cookies like he had terrible things planned for them.

And you had to admit, he was the perfect choice to accompany you, mischief or not. From his smooth manners, to his delicious voice that secretly made you weak at the knees, to his impeccable fashion sense, he was going to make your family shut the hell up. At least for one day. And then when they were sufficiently charmed he was going to disappear from their lives and leave with you with more questions that you couldn’t answer. Only about him, this time, and not some random stranger who picked you up over thumping bass music or in the morning line for coffee.

“Tomorrow at two in the afternoon, correct?”

His question, asked just before he popped an entire cookie into his mouth, pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked and looked up at him, processing for a moment, before nodding. “Yup. Black tie.”

He pulled a plate out of thin air and dumped all the cookies onto it, nodding at you and walking away with a quick, “Until then.”

You groaned, scrubbing your hands over your face. “Friday, make that triple.”

~

“Bethany is going to be so pissed at me.”

“Whatever for?”

You propped your hands up on your hips, dragging your eyes over his lean form by way of explanation. Where the Asgardian Prince put all of those cookies you’d churned out for him, you hadn’t a clue, but it certainly wasn’t in the long legs artfully encased in perfectly fitted black trousers, or the hint of rigid muscles of his torso that teased you when he twisted to stand in front of you, stepping close so each breath brushed the soft fabric of your dress against his shirt. Your eyes landed on arms so strong they filled out the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket wonderfully, as if the jacket were made for him. Which, knowing how much Stark paid him for cleaning up the team’s messes, it probably was.

When he simply quirked an elegant brow down at you and slowly wrapped his arms around your back, as if not to startle you, you sighed and shook your head. Like he didn’t know that he was sex on two legs in that tuxedo. The man owned a mirror.

“Because you’re definitely going to upstage the groom in that suit.”

His quiet laughter was low and dark in your ear, just before he clutched you tightly and the telltale rush of frigid air over your bare arms told of his taking you to the venue.

You had been right, of course. Loki earned jealous stares from both men and women, none moreso than the green-laced glare from the bride during the reception. It had you grinning at Loki a bit wider, holding onto his arm a little bit tighter, and your heart beating just a bit faster in your chest whenever he would direct his full, rapt attention to you for a side bit of conversation.

“I was promised cake, as well. When is that part of the festivities?”

You nudged his leg underneath the table, hidden by the white tablecloth, and rolled your eyes. “I swear you have a one-track mind.”

The look he directed into your eyes, flaring with heat behind a piercing emerald gaze, sucked all of the moisture from your throat. His smirk spoke of sins you’d willingly commit if it meant learning the reason for the sparkle in his stare. “Oh, darling, I assure you that there is much more sweetness to be had tonight besides the cake.”

Clearing your throat, you ran your hands overtop your hair, smoothing away imaginary flyaways, and pointed at the newlywed couple walking over the dessert table. “They’re cutting it now.”

After he was sated with sweets, shooting the occasional question about Midgardian wedding traditions your way - Why _did_ they do something so humiliating as the garter toss? - you watched the couples dancing to thumping house music on the dance floor. It wasn’t to your taste, especially not in the daylight where everyone could see you flailing wildly in an attempt at dancing.

But when a slower number came on, an old crooner that reached into your heart with his lyrics and plucked the strings there expertly, a long, large hand appeared in front of your face.

“I grow bored. Dance with me.”

It was a demand, not a question. But the tilt of his brow and the small smile on his lips quieted any outrage that was about to rise within you at being ordered around. Your hand fit into his well, large and calloused around small and soft, and you followed him into the center of the dance floor as gracefully as you could manage.

“I’m not the best dancer…”

His hand slipped underneath your arm to splay across your back just beneath your shoulder blade, and the other held yours delicately. Holding your gaze, he led you into a graceful dance that you wouldn’t even know the name of, spinning you both around the dance floor on a veritable cloud. You lost yourself in the moment, matching his pleased smile as you fell into the temporary fantasy of dancing with the handsome Prince, decked out to the nines, for a reason other than to assuage his boredom and sell a ruse that was hurting your heart more than helping.

It was the curse of attending a wedding without a romantic partner. The happiness that radiated from the couple turned sour as soon as it reached you, irritating and cold as it settled over your skin in a thin film you couldn’t shake. Envy pulsed through your veins like a poison, and the excellent acting skills of Loki didn’t help matters. The press of his lips to your forehead when you were talking with some friends, the touch of his hand over the small of your back, the warmth in his eyes and smile as he brushed a bit of hair behind your ear and allowed his hand to linger on the soft skin of your neck.

It was the taste of forbidden fruit that would linger on your tongue for far too long after the night was over.

Eventually, the song switched to a faster number, something definitely not his style, and you stilled on the edge of the writhing and jumping crowd. The tension between you was agony, the look in his eyes undecipherable, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“Thanks, for this. For pretending so I could have one night in peace.”

It wasn’t peace. It was hell masquerading as a good time with soft midnight hair and a knowing smile. But he didn’t need to know that.

His eyes searched yours for a moment that lasted an eternity. You couldn’t have moved from the spot if the world fell apart around you, for his arresting gaze. Slowly, Loki’s hands came up to cup the sides of your neck and his thumbs dragged along the edge of your jaw to tilt your chin up to him. Yours fell to your sides, digging into the dress around your thighs for any sense of reality you could grasp. Just the faintest hint of his racing pulse was visible over the collar of his crisp white shirt., matching yours as your breath panted out into the chilled air between you.

The champagne you had both sipped throughout the evening was sweet on his surprisingly soft mouth as it pressed into yours. Seeking, questioning, the kiss lingered as you learned the pliant give and take of his lips to the tune of your heart roaring in your ears. Every hope you had of maintaining a professional relationship with the god clattered to the ground and shattered at your feet with the tease of his tongue on your bottom lip before he pulled away, looking down at you with a touch of anxiety tightening the skin between his brows after your eyes had blinked open.

“Who said we were pretending?”


End file.
